How it's Supposed to Be
by tedtheturkey
Summary: He's slightly ridiculous, but he makes her heart swell and her tummy swirl. And that is how it's supposed to be, Mercedes thinks. Mercedes/OC


**A/N: I'm not sure if I fully captured the awesomeness that is Mercedes. However, this was so ridiculously fun to write and it made me exceedingly happy, I hope it makes someone exceedingly happy to read. ****J**

**P.S. I apologize for the excessive run-on sentences. **

How it's Supposed to Be

It might seem silly that she still harbours a crush on a boy who had rejected her more than a year ago. A boy that rejected her because he wanted to kiss other boys. A boy who is probably kissing another boy right now. But she does. And she feels like she probably always will.

It doesn't even make much sense. They are very different people, despite being slightly over the top, and admittedly diva-esque. Of all of the boys at McKinley, she doesn't understand why she had to fall for him. But it's there in her heart that he'd busted oh so many months ago.

She'd been happy for him (no, really, she had) when he had called her on the phone, elation in his voice, telling her that Blaine had all but told him he was in love with him, had then proceeded to tell him that he was _moved_ by him (whatever the hell that meant), and then kissed him. _And, oh, 'Cedes it was the sweetest, most beautiful moment of my life. _No, she'd been happy for him. Still, though. It had broken her heart just a little bit more.

Which is why she is currently drowning her sorrows in a cup of Double Chocolate Chunk Cookie Dough ice cream, reading a cheesy romance novel in the back corner of the local ice cream parlour. (Yes, Lima has its own _ice cream parlour._ She often wonders what century Lima was existing in anyway.) The book she is reading tells the tale of a medieval princess who is locked up in a castle by her dictatorial father, rescued by a knight who then de-flowers her in a corn field. While sometimes she might wish life was more like a fairytale, she'd rather not lose her virginity in someone's crop field. She throws the book down on the table as she finishes off the last of her ice cream with a sigh.

From her position at her table, she can see the comings and goings of the shop, who stops by to get some ice cream and what they order. Sometimes she likes to make up little stories about the people who come into the store. Guess as to what their lives might be like. Are they passing through, do they live in Lima? Are they happy, are they in love? Are they sad, are they heartbroken like her? She realizes this may only fuel her masochistic, self-deprecating tendencies, but it's ultimately more fun than being curled up in her room, thinking about how _he's_ probably doing something thrilling with his dapper, cheap-imitation-of-a-romantic-fifties-heartthrob boyfriend, and they're probably kissing and cuddling and generally making everyone around them want to puke rainbows. And, okay, she's a little bitter. But she is entitled, okay? When was the last time any boy, let alone Kurt, wanted to kiss or cuddle her? Oh, that's right. Never.

So, she sits in her chair, romance novel forgotten, ice cream gone, watching the bell ring on the door of the ice cream store, when a boy walks in. He's undeniably gorgeous. Mercedes thinks he must have just moved here, because he's about her age, and if he went to McKinley, she would certainly have noticed.

He goes up to the counter and orders Double Chocolate Chunk Cookie Dough ice cream. This makes Mercedes smile slightly. He turns and searches for a spot to sit down and eat his ice cream. He spots Mercedes in the corner and flashes her a sweet smile.

She swoons, just a little.

He sits so he is looking in her direction. Which is fine with her, because how often do you get to ogle a beautiful boy in an ice cream parlour? Not very often, and she would know.

He has reddish-brown hair, bright blue eyes, and an easy smile. He's tall, but not Finn tall, and looks like he might play some sort of sport. He pulls out a magazine on baseball and her guess is confirmed.

She wonders what his life is like. He must have the perfect little blonde girlfriend, and the perfect white picket fence family, with a dog and a cat and a goldfish that doesn't die after two weeks like hers always do. He must be excruciatingly happy. And he must have felt her eyes on him, because he looks up at her and smiles again. Then he winks and goes back to his magazine.

Her heart literally stops, and she wonders exactly what he thinks he playing at when he finishes his ice cream, closes his magazine, and walks pointedly towards her table.

"Hey," he says when he reaches her. He sits down in the chair across from her and smiles sweetly again. What is his problem?

"Hi." Mercedes looks at him sceptically, eye brows raising in an un-posed question of, "What the hell?"

"What book are you reading?" He glances down at the her romance novel, smirking slightly. She quickly snatches the book away, 'cause hell to the no, she does not need this boy to know she reads those sort of cheesy, smutty books. He realizes this, and his smirk grows wider, before blooming out into a real smile, and he extends his hand.

"My name's Adam. What's yours?" Mercedes can't help but be slightly charmed by this, and so takes his proffered hand and feels tingly as their skin makes contact. Just for a moment she forgets that she's supposed to tell him her name. Just for a moment she forgets that she even has a name.

"Uh…Mercedes," she manages to get out.

"Mercedes," he repeats. Then he smiles again. He seems to do that a lot. "I like that."

"Oh, you do?" Mercedes questions.

"Yeah, I do," he says looking her in the eye, smile having reverted to a smirk once again. Then he lets his thumb linger on her wrist for a little longer than is technically necessary, before pulling his hand away and placing it in his lap. Mercedes looks at him quizzically, and wonders again what he's doing, because if she didn't know better(which she does) she would think she was being flirted with.

Mercedes wishes that he would just leave and let her have her little pity fest in peace(though she _is_ kind of enjoying the attention from a cute boy), but he has other plans for how her day is going to go, for he starts up conversation fluidly.

"I'm new here. My family just moved from Columbus. My Dad's a cop, so he got transferred. It kinda sucks having to move in the middle of the semester, but I'm used to it. My family moves around a lot. We're originally from Dayton, but when I was five-" He sure can talk a lot, and it's cute, but she really wants to know why he's talking to _her_.

"Sorry, but, why are you telling me all this?" He falters for a second, seemingly deciding what he's going to say next.

"Oh, yeah, okay," he scrubs a hand over his face embarrassedly, and looks at her again, "I came over here to talk to you because I thought you were pretty, and generally when I think a girl is pretty, I get a little ramble-y." He looks at her through lashes that she hadn't realized were so long.

"You thought I was pretty?"

"Of course. Who wouldn't?" He gives her a genuinely confused look. And, okay, she knows she is all kinds of crazy sexy, but hearing that a boy, a boy with more than platonic feelings, thinks she's pretty? Well, that makes her tummy do all kinds of funny things.

"So, look, where I was going with this is, maybe, do you think, I could have your number? Or, like, I could give you mine and you could call me, if you'd be more comfortable with that, or, you know, whatever." He looks exceedingly sweet and ridiculous.

She realizes that this is so not how her day was supposed to go. She was supposed to eat her ice cream, read her novel, then curl up with her favourite romantic tragedy in her room and cry her eyes out. She was not supposed to be flirted with, told she was pretty, and then asked for her number. Though of the two scenarios, she supposes that the latter is much more appealing anyway. So she smiles at Adam, twirls her fingers around a strand of her hair, and giggles sweetly. (Because, yeah, she _can_ flirt. She just never has the opportunity to.)

"How about I take your number and I promise to call you tomorrow so you can take me out for dinner. I'll direct you to my favourite restaurant, which is the best in town, and then maybe, I'll let you take me out again the next night." She's not sure if that's how she should have gone about that. But, it's out now, she only hopes he still thinks she's pretty.

"That sounds great," he says, looking relieved. "Yeah, so call me and then yeah, we can…" he trails off looking at her dreamily, and stands to move. "So, bye, I'll see you soon." He smiles one last time before taking her hand again and squeezing it lightly. Her tummy swirls and crashes as he turns around to leave.

Mercedes practically glows as she watches him walk out the door. She marvels at the pretty boy who saved her from a night of soppy movies and badly directed sex scenes. She feels gooey and melt-y inside, and she can't wait to tell everyone in Glee tomorrow that's she has a _date, _when she remembers something very important.

"Adam, wait! You forgot to give me your number!" And she rushes our of the door, romance novel forgotten on her table.

He must hear her running after him, because he turns around and grins at her.

"Just couldn't stay away, huh?" he asks, winking again.

"Cool it Casanova, you forgot to give me your number." Mercedes smiles at him, taking out her phone.

"Oh, wow. Sorry. See this is why I don't talk to pretty girls." He's starting to ramble under his breath as he adds his number to her contacts. There is a soft blush forming on his cheeks, and Mercedes can't help but be charmed by it.

"So, do you think you'd still want to go out tomorrow?" He seems unsure of himself again. This constant switching of confident to shy was sweet, but getting rather confusing.

"Yeah, of course. I'll call you. Promise." And she flashes him one of her most radiant smiles, before sashaying off, and she knows he's watching her walk away.

She doesn't let herself squeal and flail about until she is fully ensconced in her room, with a pillow to hug, and loud music playing as she jumps around her bed.

It's possible that she is building this up in her head, and the only outcome will be heartbreak. However, she can't bring herself to care, because a cute boy wants to take her out to dinner. And she's almost certain (you can never be one hundred percent about this one) he likes girls, and he doesn't want to date her for a popularity boost, either. No, he likes her, he thinks she's pretty. It makes her heart swell. It makes her want to listen to cheesy love songs, twirl around in her room singing, _I Feel Pretty_, and do all kinds of sickening things that she never allows herself to do. And this is how it's supposed to be, she thinks.

It's not until about ten o'clock that night, when she is in her pony pyjamas, and her sleep mask labelled _princess _is on top of her head, that she gets a knock at the door. Her mom and dad have both kissed her good night already, so she wanders down stairs, wondering who dared to interrupt her beauty sleep.

She opens the door a crack, because this might be Lima, Ohio, but who knows what kind of people lurk around on Sunday nights. It occurs to her she might be paranoid. Still, she pokes her head out of the door, looking up into bright blue eyes.

"Hi," Adam says, scratching the back of his head nervously. "Okay, before you say anything, let me explain. So I got home, flopped around my room for a bit, got my phone out and stared at it for a bit hoping you'd call, when I realized that I gave you my old number. If you called the one I gave you, you'd get Mr. and Mrs. Finkleton of Columbus, Ohio." He is rambling. Again. And though Mercedes has only just met him, and she is _not_ that kind of girl, she resists the urge to reach out and kiss him.

"You are kind of ridiculous," she states, but it's not meant unkindly, and if anything it releases some of the tension that Adam is feeling, because, wow, she _still _kind of likes him? Really? He smiles down at her, and though they've only just met, and he is _not _that kind of boy, he resists the urge to reach out and kiss her.

Mercedes feels giddy and silly, and slightly like she should invite him in, but what would her parents say about inviting strange boys into the house on school nights? Oh, yeah, you don't do it. But, then he grins again, and she really doesn't think she'll mind missing an hour or so of her beauty sleep if he keeps smiling at her like that. So, she invites him in, and he looks nervous, but mostly really happy, and that's exactly how she feels, too. And that's how it's supposed to be, she thinks.

He sits on the couch, close to her, but not too close, and his hand brushes over hers, just lightly enough that it could have been accidental, but that she really hopes isn't.

"So," he starts, and for all of his rambling and attempts at smooth talking earlier, he seems at a loss for anything to say now.

"So, you were saying earlier that you moved from Dayton?" She starts there, because it's easy and he flows into conversation.

As he talks, they move steadily closer together, until their thighs and knees are pressed together, their hands fully intertwined, and their faces inches apart.

"And then our dog knocked over the Christmas ham and we had to get Grandma a new set of dentures." He trails off, and had Mercedes been listening, and not concentrated on his lips as he spoke, what he said probably would have killed the mood. But, she wasn't and it didn't, and before she knew it, her eyes were closed and she was leaning in towards him.

Had her eyes been open, she would have seen his eyes grow wide, and face break out into a sappy grin, before he closed his eyes to meet her in a kiss.

And maybe it was because she's never really been kissed before, well, not properly at any rate, but she thinks this is probably the best kiss anyone has ever had. His hands fall at her waist, hers go up to his neck and his hair, and she can feel him smiling into the kiss (he smiles at everything). His lips move softly over hers, sweetly, with a care that she doesn't think someone who had only known her for half a day should have. His hand moves softly up her back to her face. He trails his finger down her cheek, before pulling away and leaning his forehead against hers.

"Okay. Wow."

"Yeah," she agrees, because she really, really does.

He pulls her close, resting his head on hers, and they sit there for minutes, days, years, she doesn't know. He smells nice, like laundry soap, and grass, and Double Chocolate Chunk Cookie Dough ice cream.

"I should probably go," he says, pulling back to look at her, and he looks like he really doesn't want to.

"Yeah," she agrees again, "If my dad finds out I've been kissing boys on a school night, he'll ground me for life and we'll never get to go on our date." He laughs softly and glances apprehensively upstairs.

"Well, we don't want that."

Mercedes takes his hand, and pulls him to the door. He leans in again, kisses her on the lips again, holding her face softly like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever been able to touch.

There is a little skip in his step as she watches him walk away, and it might be due to the fact that he just kissed a pretty girl, or it might be that he knows said pretty girl is watching him walk away.

When Mercedes crawls under her covers, after having jumped on her bed for several minutes, squealed into her pillow for ten, and recounted every moment of the day in her head countless times, she texts Kurt to tell him that he better be ready for a girls night tomorrow because she has amazing news.

And it doesn't feel sad anymore that the only nights she will ever have with Kurt are girls nights. She doesn't even feel sad that he was probably thinking about his imitation-of-a-romantic-fifties-heartthrob boyfriend that she really wanted to punch only hours ago. She feels happy, and happy in a way that she never really felt with Kurt. He'll always be her first love, unrequited or not, and he will always be special in her heart. But, now, she feels just fine with that love remaining platonic. Because now she has her own, not-quite-so-dapper, not-really-a-very-good-imitation-of-a-romantic-fifities-heartthrob. And that was always how it was supposed to be, she thinks.

She is just drifting off to sleep, thinking of soft lips and blue eyes, when she remembers something very important.

Adam forgot to give her his number.


End file.
